


2.26

by bonebo



Series: Kinktober '17 [26]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Shotgunning, Weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12507424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: 26. Shotgunning |Mirror Sex | Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose





	2.26

He’s touched down on Blackwatch soil after yet another mission that came far too close to taking his life for comfort--but luckily, McCree just happens to know the best way to celebrate staying alive.

He sits on one of the outside staircases that lead up to the roof, looking over the stretch of mountains that surround the base; they’re still stubbornly white-capped despite the warm breeze, and as he digs in his pocket for his stress-relief McCree wonders at it, at how something so delicate as snow can stay persistently on the rugged mountain’s face even when the sun comes out. 

But then his questing fingers find the blunt, rolled carefully in his room not ten minutes ago, and he tells himself it doesn’t matter.

A quick flick of his lighter has the tip burning bright orange, and McCree closes his eyes as he pulls in a long draw of smoke--it burns, but in a good way, the crackling pain slight and welcome as it spreads through his lungs, reminding him he’s alive. He lets the breath out and watches the smoke billow out in front of him, swept away by the insistent breeze; and it’s only after he’s let out a soft sigh of content that he hears the heavy footfalls of combat boots behind him.

“McCree.”

“Heya, boss.” He twists around to offer Gabriel a half-hearted salute with the hand not currently holding his contraband, and smiles. “Just enjoyin’ the scenery. What’re you up to?”

Gabriel clicks his tongue. “Don’t start, McCree. You know drug use is prohibited in Overwatch ranks--”

“Aw, Gabe, c’mon--”

“--but I won’t tell, if you share.”

At that, McCree lights up, and scoots over on the stair to give the space beside him an inviting pat. “Well, shit. You ain’t gotta twist my arm none. Have a seat.”

And Gabriel does; sinking down heavily beside McCree, so close their thighs and shoulders brush through the regulated fatigues, and McCree finds himself wondering: if the stress of the missions, his concern for his life, gets to him so badly, what kind of torment must it put Gabriel through?

“Here,” he murmurs, holding the blunt out in two fingers with a dip of his head. Their fingers brush as Gabriel plucks it from his grasp, and McCree knows it’s entirely too early to blame the weed for the jolt of feeling that courses through him from the contact.

Gabriel says nothing as he lights up; just lets his eyes close, his cheeks hollowing a little as he sucks the smoke in. He holds it for a while--McCree wonders, idly, if Gabriel got up to this sort of thing frequently, back when he was young enough to have fun--and when he tips his head back to let the breath out, McCree finds himself drawn to the hard line of Gabriel’s jaw, the dark stubble trailing down his throat, the dignity of his profile against the evening sun’s dying light.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It only takes a few more hits to have his inhibitions lowered; and this time, when he stares at Gabriel’s face, McCree can’t help but want to do more than just stare. He lays his hand on Gabriel’s as he takes his next hit, and when he pulls the blunt away he leans forward, slotting his lips up against his Commander’s own slack ones. It’s easy to breathe the smoke out and yet it still leaves him lightheaded, even moreso when Gabriel pulls away to stare at him, lingering traces of smoke trailing from the corner of his mouth.

“We could get in trouble for this,” Gabriel tells him--like McCree didn’t already know. Like it matters.

“We could,” he agrees, and leans in for another kiss.


End file.
